Friday, December 7, 2007

Milestones, Gravestones and Ninety-Nine Somethings

You might ask why I'd celebrate the ninety-ninth Bathroom Monologue instead of the hundredth. It's for the same reason I say kind things to people on unimportant days. People say all those nice things about other people right after they die. No one so admires a man as when he is dead, and never is he so popular as at his funeral. It's kind of disgusting, all those people voicing fond memories just when she can no longer hear them, those obituaries in the paper remembering her. Wouldn't one of those celebratory editorials have been put to better use when she was alive and could read it? Could have sent it to her parents? Could have clipped it and put it up on her 'fridge, and passed it every time she wanted to snag a soda, smiling a private smile, knowing someone would put such time and effort into something so nice for her? But no, they only print it for you once you can't read it, after she's collapsed at the last milestone. Milestones are fine, they remind us to check if you're there, they tell you how far you've come, but it's the miles they mark that matter.

You also might ask why I'm celebrating my ninety-ninth Bathroom Monologue when I'm not even at seventy-five yet. Well that's... stop judging me!

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